


This is never happening again

by tissaias_piglet



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Choking, F/F, Hate Sex, PWP, Rough Sex, Ruined Orgasms, Slapping, hella angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tissaias_piglet/pseuds/tissaias_piglet
Summary: Their closeness, the way Triss’ chest heaved against hers, the ease with which she could choke her or fuck her, made Yennefer dizzy with sudden lust. She crushed her lips against Triss’, kissing her with a heated rage, not caring if their teeth clashed or one of them ended up with a cut lip, blood tainting their kiss.Possibly some spoilers for events in the book-canon and game-canon
Relationships: Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	This is never happening again

**Author's Note:**

> Some spoilers may follow, be warned (again).  
> This is set in Witcher 3, when the gang is all at the Chameleon, after the battle at Kaer Morhen and after Philippa and Rita have been rescued, and before they all set off for Skellige.

Yennefer huffed in frustration as she watched Triss staring miserably at the food on her plate. She hadn’t eaten anything, and watching good food go to waste was one of Yennefer’s pet hates. Especially food which she’d paid for. In a manner of speaking. Geralt had persuaded Dandelion to let them stay at the Chameleon, probably by using his cock, and since Geralt belonged to Yennefer, technically she’d paid for the food. The point was, she was becoming utterly infuriated with Triss’ pathetic moping.

No one else had noticed.

Margarita was still too weak to come down, and took her meals in her own room. Under the guise of taking care of Margarita, Philippa ate upstairs with her, although privately they all knew that Philippa couldn’t bear to socialise with people who weren’t entirely subservient to her, as the Lodge all had been. It was no great loss, Yennefer felt. Philippa was as much fun at gatherings as a group of drowners, and although Rita was usually a joy to be around, she was, understandably, currently not in the mood to drink and laugh.

Dandelion was too busy running around like a demented serving girl, ensuring everyone had enough wine, and gravy, and bread, but always finding time to give Geralt cow-eyes when he was in the witcher’s line of sight. Yennefer couldn’t say that she cared one way or another where Geralt was sticking his cock, as long as he put it inside her when she told him to.

Ciri flitted restlessly from conversation to conversation, sometimes rhapsodising about weapons with Geralt, other times joining in Zoltan’s colourfully crude conversations about how to take revenge on the Wild Hunt, the witch hunters, Nilfgaard, and anyone else who’d pissed him off. Sometimes she stared into the middle distance, perhaps thinking of Vesemir. Other times, she stayed upstairs, using caring for Margarita as an excuse to avoid their enforced ‘family’ dinners.

Geralt watched Ciri with an almost oppressive intensity, as though scared she might turn into mist and vanish right before his eyes. During the few breaks he took from that occupation, he alternately returned Dandelion’s cow-eyes, and smiled half-heartedly in acknowledgement of Yennefer’s continued existence.

Triss said scarcely a word, and with everyone else too entangled in their own preoccupations, no one really noticed. Except Yennefer. And frankly it was putting her off her own food, which did nothing to improve her mood, because the only thing worse than watching someone else wasting food was wasting food herself.

What she needed to do was nip this ridiculous mooning in the bud. It had gone on for too long, and she was beginning to doubt whether Triss had taken in a single word of their plans so far. That was a rather pressing concern, not least of all because if their mission failed because of something Triss did or did not do, and Ciri was injured, taken prisoner, or worse, Yennefer didn’t think she was physically capable of coming up with a painful enough punishment for the other sorceress.

Triss began to run her finger around the rim of her glass, producing a smothered whining sound which made Yennefer feel like her teeth were vibrating. “Triss, I need to speak to you,” she snapped, standing up so quickly that she almost upset her own glass. “ _Now_ ,” she emphasised, when Triss looked up at her with some confusion. Yennefer supposed that was a fair reaction. After all, they weren’t exactly on the best terms, and neither had made any move to discuss things privately, Yennefer preferring to snipe and glare, Triss consumed by melancholy and noticing nothing.

Yennefer rounded on the other sorceress the second they were alone in her room. “By all the gods, Triss, will you stop _moping_?” she cried, forgetting the promise she’d made to herself to keep her emotions in check the second she saw Triss’ pathetic expression.

“No,” Triss responded mulishly, “I don’t think I will. Now, what did you want to talk about?” She paced around the room, picking up trinkets and passing them nervously from hand to hand, keeping her distance from Yennefer’s temper. It put Yennefer in mind of a dog cowering from a kick. When no answer came, Triss turned around sharply, anger momentarily burning away her sadness. “I have better things to do than stand here and get the silent treatment from you when you’re the one who dragged me up here in the first place, Yenna.” Triss’ eyes widened at the unintentional slip. “ _Yennefer_ ,” she corrected herself.

“The moping is what I wanted to talk about,” Yennefer snapped, fired up more by the unexpected sting of Triss rejecting her familiar name than by it being used in the first place. “It needs to stop. As much as I’d prefer you weren’t here at all, we need you. But we can’t afford any mistakes, and if you’re too busy pining to take in a word anyone says, you’re going to make a mistake. And so help me, I swear on almighty Tissaia de Vries that if anything happens to Ciri because of you, I will hurt you so badly that it’ll make fighting the Wild Hunt feel like a cat scratch.” Yennefer’s tirade had left her slightly breathless, but it seemed to have barely left any impression on Triss, who continued to walk aimlessly around the room now Yennefer had finished.

When she spoke, she addressed the window, her attention momentarily captured by the reflection of candle flames which danced on the glass, split into hundreds of tiny, glittering orbs by the damp which gathered there, the product of a warm room and cold outside. “It hurts, Yennefer, so I have every right to mope, as you put it,” she said bluntly.

Anger fractured Yennefer’s composure, and she barely managed to stop herself gripping Triss’ arm and throwing her against the wall. “You have no right!” she cried, “you’d put your hand into the fire and then complain and blame someone else when you got burned? No, you brought this upon yourself and now you have to suffer the consequences. What did you expect, letting yourself fall in love with a man who was unavailable? And as if that wasn’t bad enough, taking another woman’s man? How dare you? How _dare_ you?”

Yennefer was incensed, shouting so loudly that those downstairs in the tavern would undoubtedly be able to hear them, not that it mattered. When Triss tried to speak, her words were lost immediately in the maelstrom of Yennefer’s anger, and she realised that if she wanted to be heard at all, she’d have to shout back.

“When this is over, I never want to see you again,” Yennefer ranted, her voice getting louder and louder, “and if you so much as come near Geralt, oh, I’ll... You may see Ciri, because I’m not so heartless as to deprive either of you of that relationship, but if you even _look_ at Geralt, I’ll-”

“It’s not Geralt!” Triss sobbed, her cheeks flushing with painful heat, hating Yennefer for making her admit it but hating herself more for feeling that way in the first place, “it’s not Geralt, it’s Philippa!” Admitting it aloud felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, immediately followed by an even heavier weight crashing down on her. Yennefer was the last person she wanted to know about her feelings for the owl sorceress. It was something she could guarantee would be used against her in the future.

Triss’ admission hit Yennefer like a punch to the gut, stealing her breath for a moment. “ _Philippa_?” she asked disbelievingly. Of course, she knew about the little fling the two sorceresses had had – everyone did – but she’d thought it was over a long time ago, certainly not something for Triss to be actively whining about. “Your face has been tripping you because you’re pining for _Philippa_?” She stopped short of asking why specifically, fearing the answer she might hear, sure it could only be about sex and not love.

Even though her back was turned, Triss couldn’t bear the idea of Yennefer seeing the undoubtedly pathetic look on her face. She murmured something in Elder, and the candle flames responded to her command instantly, extinguishing themselves and plunging the room into darkness. Yennefer swore and sat down heavily on the bed, but Triss found it seemed a little easier to talk, as though she could forget Yennefer was there and she was just talking to herself.

“I don’t expect you to understand. You have all you want, you’ve never had to worry about falling in love with someone who’s unavailable, but it’s all I seem to do.” She knew it was ridiculous to think about Philippa Eilhart loving anyone except herself, but sometimes when they were curled together in the tangled sheets, panting, and Philippa reached out to brush Triss’ damp hair back from her face, she felt it. “I’m jealous of the attention she’s paying to Rita. There, are you happy now? Now you really know how much of a disgusting person I am.”

If Yennefer had any composure left, Triss’ latest admission irrevocably shattered it. Rage seared her as surely as boiling water, and for a moment, words failed her. If it had been someone else, perhaps she’d have tried to let them down gently, but right now she hated Triss more than anyone in the world. “She doesn’t love you, Triss! She barely knows you exist except as a servant to the Lodge,” she cried, voice scathing. She heard Triss try and fail to smother a sob, and snorted derisively. “You sit there every day, consumed with pathetic yearning, and it makes me sick. Grow up! The woman you think you love is a fiction; she wouldn’t wipe your tears or protect you or comfort you when you’re unwell. You’re not important enough to her for those thoughts to even register in her head.”

It was cathartic in a way; hurting Triss lessened some of the pain Yennefer herself was feeling. But now she’d started, she couldn’t stop herself. Weeks – months, years – of anger poured out of her, and she was powerless to stop it, even when Triss began to cry in earnest.

“You know what Philippa always said – either you’re with the Lodge, or you’re against it. Which is it, Triss? Because right now it’s obvious what Philippa thinks, which is why she’s there plotting with Margarita and you’re here crying over her not paying you enough attention. _Fuck_! Do you hear how pathetic that sounds?” Tension coiled in Yennefer’s body, burning for some kind of release, and she stood up, fury at being impeded by the darkness only making her even more desperate to put her fist through the nearest wall. She kicked the bed frame instead, gratified at the splintering noise as the wood yielded to her rage. “At least with Geralt I could understand why. But Philippa? Are your standards really so low, Triss?”

There was a flurry of movement which sounded as though Triss had rounded on her angrily, but in the dark it was impossible to tell. It was a level of melodrama typical of sorceresses, Yennefer thought, rolling her eyes. Yelling at each other in a pitch black room instead of talking it out over a bottle of wine like normal people did. A candle flickered to life by the window, dimly illuminating Triss, light shining on the tear stains on her face. Yennefer wanted to feel ashamed that she’d made her friend cry, but she couldn’t.

“Standards? You want to lecture me, Yennefer? Fine, I’m all ears. Let’s get it over with,” Triss growled, her voice dangerously low, implying that a lecture from Yennefer was in actuality the last thing she wanted.

It took Yennefer by surprise, and for a moment she couldn’t think of a word to say. When she finally spoke, she was surprised to find that her voice came out quieter, softer than she expected. “She’s just wrong for you, Triss. She doesn’t love you, she never could, not like-”

“Like what? Like _you_ could?” Triss sneered. “You’re no better than Philippa. You want to own people, to possess them for your own gain. You don’t care about anyone’s feelings. To think I once imagined I might be in love with you!”

Rather than striking her in the heart, as was no doubt the intention, Triss’ statement hit Yennefer at the apex of her thighs, and the fact she could react in such a way to those words made her fury rise again. She had the twin advantages of darkness to mask her movements, and the weak candle to allow her to track Triss’, so when she suddenly pushed the other sorceress against the wall, Triss gasped out in a way which could have been surprise, or fear, or something else Yennefer didn’t want to put a name to right now. “Don’t be so stupid,” she growled, hot breath tickling Triss’ lips, “of course you’re not in love with me.” Their closeness, the way Triss’ chest heaved against hers, the ease with which she could choke her or fuck her, made Yennefer dizzy with sudden lust. She crushed her lips against Triss’, kissing her with a heated rage, not caring if their teeth clashed or one of them ended up with a cut lip, blood tainting their kiss.

“Is that what you wanted?” Yennefer hissed, more to distract herself from the fact it had certainly been what _she_ wanted than any desire to hear the answer, and brought one hand up to choke Triss, strangling her words. She felt the other sorceress swallow hard, and loosened her grip fractionally. “Tell me,” she demanded, getting wetter for every second that Triss’ breath came shakily, but Triss simply stared at her resolutely, her gasps the only response. Reluctantly, Yennefer dropped her hand, a soft noise of shock tearing from her a second later when Triss grabbed a handful of her dark hair and dragged her head back to expose her neck, immediately attacking her pale skin with a sharp bite, before sucking hard enough that Yennefer almost had to swallow her pride and beg her to stop. She’d have a mark there for days, impossible to cover up with her dresses.

“Don’t tell me who I am or am not in love with,” Triss growled between rough nips, setting Yennefer’s whole body aflame, “what would you know about how I feel?” When Yennefer didn’t answer, she tugged her hair roughly, making the other sorceress let out a whine. “Now who’s the pathetic one?” Triss smirked, and pulled Yennefer into another rough kiss by her hair, moaning unrestrainedly as strong hands began to massage her breasts hard, pinching and twisting her nipples through the thin material of her shirt. “Oh gods... Oh Yennefer...” she moaned, breaking the kiss, and Yennefer slapped her hard.

“Stop it,” Yennefer snapped, “stop it or I’ll cover your mouth as I make you come.” Her own words made her feel weak with desire; when had she decided she was going to fuck Triss, and why had it suddenly become the thing she needed most in all the world? “Are you going to shut up?” she growled, shoving her hand up beneath Triss’ shirt, tearing aside the various layers of fabric, and flicking a hard nipple with her thumb. Triss cried out, but managed to prevent herself saying Yennefer’s name. Dizzy with lust, she could only assume that had been her crime. “Good,” Yennefer said, “now stay still if you want this. I’m not fucking you on my bed.”

Yennefer brought both hands up and tore open Triss’ shirt, pulling and tugging at her underclothes until eventually she was naked from the waist up. It would have been easier to dematerialise her clothes, but Yennefer wanted the possessiveness which tearing them off gave. She wanted to stay neutral and disinterested, but beneath her hands, Triss was a vision, which only served to make her more angry. She cupped Triss’ breasts roughly, massaging them and feeling the other sorceress’ nipples hardening more against her palms.

“Can’t... I can’t stay standing... Please, Yenna?” Triss murmured, and Yennefer growled in frustration. Against her better judgement, she grabbed Triss’ bare shoulders and pulled her away from the wall, pushing her towards the bed. Triss cupped her face, trying to kiss her but ending up just panting into her mouth. At the edge of the bed she stiffened, expecting Yennefer to throw her down onto it, but the other sorceress let go of her briefly, stepping back. Triss had only a second to feel discomfort before Yennefer’s hands were on her again, fumbling with her breeches. To help, Triss lit the cluster of candles beside the bed, and Yennefer’s fingers quickly found their mark, unlacing the laces and then kneeling so she could drag down the tight leather, leaving Triss completely naked.

Yennefer leaned in and bit her thigh, breath hot against her skin. “Look at you, you’re a mess,” she hissed, and knelt up so she could swipe her tongue against Triss’ sex. The unexpected touch, combined with the sight of Yennefer on her knees, made Triss so weak that her legs gave way, and she barely managed to control her collapse onto the bed. “I bet you’re going to come the second I touch you, aren’t you?” Yennefer spat. She pushed Triss’ legs apart, then hooked her hands around Triss’ hips, roughly pulling her to the very edge of the bed. “I hope you don’t like it gentle,” she smirked, keeping eye contact as she leaned in, right up until Triss’ eyes were forced closed with anticipation.

Triss wanted to be embarrassed about how wet she was, but the second she felt Yennefer’s tongue on her, she forgot everything. A hard swipe over her clit, a teasing lick along her folds, was all it took to get her trembling. “Yenna, gods... I’m- I’m going to-”

Yennefer pulled back immediately, biting her thigh again, hard enough for the pain to momentarily cancel out her arousal. “No you’re not,” she said matter of factly, “you’ll come when I decide.” She pressed a soft kiss to Triss’ clit, but there was no sweetness there, it was simply a way to tease her without giving too much. “How long should I make you wait for?” she mused, knowing Triss was almost insensible with desire and hardly in a position to respond to her.

“Please Yenna, I thought... mm, don’t do that if you want me to last... I thought... gods, stop!” Triss sobbed, her hips jerking fruitlessly against the air as Yennefer licked her clit then pulled away again. “I thought you wanted it rough,” she managed to say, her words coming out in a rush before Yennefer could tease her any more, “please, I need- need more!”

Yennefer gripped Triss’ thighs hard, holding her in place as she buried her face between the other sorceress’ legs. She licked her clit furiously, knowing that Triss was so close to the edge that she’d come from anything. “More? Like this?” she asked between licks, smiling smugly against Triss’ wet cunt. “Are you going to come, Trissy darling?”

“Yes,” Triss moaned, “yes, I’m... oh fuck!” She gripped a handful of Yennefer’s hair as she felt herself begin to come, her ecstatic moans of pleasure breaking into sobs as Yennefer pulled away at the last minute, offering her only a ruined orgasm as she came without any touch at all. “Yenna, no!” Triss whimpered, her hips twitching forward in desperate search of some stimulation as she came, but all she got in response was a dark, filthy laugh from Yennefer.

Triss collapsed back on the bed, exhausted but unsatisfied, sobbing softly. “Fuck, please please don’t leave me like this?” she begged, clenching the bedsheets in her fists as if trying to resist touching herself, “Yenna please?”

“Lie down properly,” Yennefer commanded, hurriedly removing her own clothes and climbing onto the bed. Moving as though her limbs were made of stone, Triss managed to comply, parting her legs almost shyly, hardly daring to hope that Yennefer was prepared to give her what she wanted. “You’re a mess, aren’t you?” Yennefer purred, teasing her fingertip over Triss’ clit and making her squirm. “See, you’re so sensitive now after I didn’t let you come properly.” As Triss opened her mouth to begin pleading for more, Yennefer pushed two fingers inside her, cutting off her words. “Is that what you wanted?” she growled, pulling back then thrusting again, this time with three fingers. “ _Tell me_ , Triss.” She slammed into her, feeling the bed move with them.

Each thrust took Triss’ breath away. She was far too wet for Yennefer’s fingers not to be pleasurable inside her, but it was certainly harder than she was used to being fucked, even by Philippa. “Yes, it’s... Yenna, so good... It’s what I want... Please, let me come this time?” she whimpered, barely even conscious of what she was saying. She was close, so close, but she could never come without having her clit touched, and beneath the pleasure was a slowly-growing unease that Yennefer might keep pounding her for hours but refuse to rub her clit and let her come. Triss was not above begging for it.

“Come,” Yennefer demanded suddenly, curling her fingers, thrusting and stroking roughly inside her, the pleasure causing tears to come to Triss’ eyes again, but she couldn’t... she needed... Yennefer swiped her clit hard with her thumb, and Triss cried out as her orgasm hit without warning, her back arching slightly from the damp sheets as she came, her juices spilling against Yennefer’s fingers.

As Triss panted for breath, crying softly again, Yennefer wiped her fingers on Triss’ thigh, not wanting her sheets to be soaked in the other sorceress’ scent any more than they already were. She’d have to have them changed, there was no way she’d be able to sleep otherwise. Yennefer shifted slightly on the bed and bit down hard on a whine as the sheets rubbed against her sensitive, dripping pussy. She desperately needed release, but she had no intention of letting Triss be the one to provide it. “Get yourself cleaned up, then leave,” she said shortly, more to strengthen her own resolve not to let Triss touch her than because she had a particular issue with the sorceress lying there on her bed.

Triss pushed herself up into a sitting position, and to Yennefer’s surprise, she smirked. “Whatever you want, Yenna. But I know you’re going to come and beg me to get you off sooner or later.”


End file.
